


take a right, bang a left

by ideal_girl (trainwreckdress)



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: 100-word parts, Episode Tag, Explicit Language, Found Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainwreckdress/pseuds/ideal_girl
Summary: Orange tries. So do his friends. They'll show 'em all.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	take a right, bang a left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trismegistus (Lebateleur)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/gifts).



> Tag for Episode 50: Dynamite Diamond Finals - MJF vs. Orange Cassidy
> 
> Full Episode (TNT) (requires cable subscription): https://www.tntdrama.com/shows/all-elite-wrestling-dynamite/season-2/episode-50/december-9-2020
> 
> Match Highlights (YouTube): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfHZWKPJEJ4
> 
> Written as 100-word parts.

(i)

"Couldn't you do something, I dunno, better?" a promoter had asked Orange once. "I mean, you could do a stoner gimmick if you want to be lazy and shit, ever think about that? That could get over."

Orange remembers clenching his fists in his pockets. Then: "I'm not lazy."

The promoter had howled, laughter filling up the empty space, bouncing off the walls. "Then what are you? A fucking idiot? Fucking wrestlers."

Later, Chuck had gotten hot when Orange told him what happened. "You, lazy? _That guy_ was the fucking idiot. I can't wait 'til we show 'em all. Shit!"

(ii) 

"You good?" Chuck keeps asking and asking. "You sure?" His hair is sticking up like he just got electrocuted. Anything is possible.

"Dude, just let us know what you want us to do." Now Trent's in his ear, hands on his shoulders. "You're not alone, dude."

A cape swirls nearby. A dragon looks at Orange, narrows its eyes and tilts its head, just a fraction -- measuring. There's a beat and then it's Brandon, his eyes kind. He nods. "A bunch of us are ready, if you need it."

Orange blinks. He takes a breath, deep and grounding. "Cool," he says.

(iii)

The walk to the tunnel is short, uneventful. Orange puts on his glasses. Chuck vibrates, frenetic, high-pitched, overwhelming.

"You're gonna get this ring, and it's gonna be so fucking cool, and you're gonna shove your fist right in MJF's stupid fucking face, and--" Chuck stops, shakes himself, jumps up and down. "Shit, I am so fucking hyped--"

"Yeah!" Trent laughs, hiding his smile behind his wrist for a beat, then throws an arm around them both, showing his teeth. "You got this, dude, we are right here with you."

Then the Producer counts a steady 1-2-3 and waves them in.

(iv) 

Bryce floats in Orange's peripheral vision, a striped wave of curiosity and care, but Orange's only got eyes for Jericho. The bat spins, creating a gravity well on its own, dark and swirling. It's dangerous, distracting.

The crowd is far away, so it's not as easy to be buoyed up. He feels lopsided, off. The Inner Circle is a wall on his right, crackling with heat, smothering him and weighing him down. 

The bell rings; he shrugs out of his jacket. Then there's a spike, MJF on him, a tidal wave of _fearhatredjealousy_ and--

It's a lot and _not enough._

(v)

Orange is stomped and slammed and choked, and _now that's enough,_ his shoulder connecting to MJF's jaw.

_("Oh! Stunt-dog millionaire, great counter there by Orange Cassidy." Excalibur cuts through. Tony follows with a "--and in mid-air, which is amazing!")_

It's go-time now, heat pooling in Orange's body. The apron is a balance beam beneath his feet and he winds up and--

\--the crash reverberates up his arm, energy returned back into his shoulder. His knuckles groan and bones in his fingers _squeak,_ and _oh, ouch,_ and he's on the ground. Chuck touches him once, palm on skin. It's nice.

(vi)

Then Orange spins, a miasma of pain ricocheting, finger bones grinding, delicate connections misfiring. 

Back in the ring and he spins through. Orange knows this part, loosens up to take the hits, the collisions; this dance is _his,_ a one-sided _paso doble_ where he lets his opponent tire themselves out, expend their energy and get gassed while he waits.

But the Inner Circle is on him, like vampires swarming. Back in the ring, MJF is on a mission, crushing and pulling, taking Orange's right hand -- the hand that goes on his heart, where he'd wear the ring and--

\--he's _alone?_

(vii)

But then there's a cool wave at his back, and he rolls toward it, follows it, feels it gust across his face. Trent had said _"you're not alone,"_ and he was right. There are palms slapping the ring; he feels his chest vibrate. MJF's mouth is hot and his teeth are sharp against Orange's fingers. Orange kicks and squirms and there's a brief disconnect, enough for him to _spark,_ fist made by memory, but -- _save it_ \-- and he redirects to a drop kick, a tope, a cross-body, and then -- _loop-de-loop, dontdothat, upsy-daisy, and dive and dontdothat and it's 1, 2--_

(viii)

MJF kicks out.

Orange ragdolls, body in protection mode, let's a bunch of stuff happen that he probably shouldn't, but MJF's _burning_ , energy laser-focused. Orange crumples on his side in the middle of the ring and, in a flash, realizes that MJF is fighting like a man that has _everything_ to lose. 

What does Orange have to lose? Nothing.

So, it's clumsy, but effective, when he dumps MJF out of the ring, and Orange finds the opening to throw his own body out after him. He has to careen away from Ortiz and Jericho, points himself toward Chuck, a beacon.

(ix) 

There's a pinning predicament, broken up, but then MJF has the bat, tries to play a fast one, so OC plays one back. He's got years of shitty people trying to keep him down, but he hates himself for the lie almost immediately. He can deal with that later, right now, he realizes that he actually might want this, wants that ring on his hand so he can crack it across someone's face, crack open someone's dome, and he wonders if this is what wars are fought over, envy and hatred so strong that it consumes everyone in its path--

(x)

"Dude, I'm so sorry, it's our fault he came for you, Miro is a fucking maniac." Trent hovers over Orange as Doc Sampson wraps his right hand. Chuck paces, arms pulled tight to his chest. He kicks at a chair, trips over it as it falls, lands on the floor with a muffled _"Shit!"_

"It's okay." Orange shrugs. "You tried."

"Fuck, so did you, man." Trent's eyes are wide, awed. "If he didn't cheat like a--"

And now Chuck is back, upright. "Like a fucking Cheater McCheatypants."

"Don't worry." Orange raises his left hand, makes a fist. "We'll show them."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Lebateleur: I truly hope that you have a wonderful new year ahead. After a multi-year hiatus from all fic writing, it was tough to get the wheels grinding again. It wasn't until I saw the Dynamite Diamond match that I felt that true spark -- that "what happens now?" energy that comes from great storytelling or characters. Since there will be a few weeks of matches between now and when you read this, it's totally possible it will be Jossed (Khaned?) by the storyline progressing. I do hope that you enjoyed this, even a little bit, and that you have friends around you that support you like Chuck and Trent (and "the boys") support Orange. Be well! - Your Yuletide Assignee


End file.
